Dude, Where's My Dog? (Tyral)

by **Grant Reynolds** on June 12th, 2013, 8:55 pm

31st Day of Summer, 513 AV

"Stay right there," Grant ordered gently, pointing to the street beside the courtyard entrance. Lucille dropped down onto her belly, ears erect and tail thumping slowly against the cobbles. She watched him intently, head resting on her paws, with her intelligent eyes rolled up to meet his. "Good girl, I'll be right back. No wandering off, you hear?" She sighed quietly, wagging her tail a few more times before growing still. Grant was on an errand, though a rather unimportant one. He had come into the city to get a general idea of prices for supplies he often used, or that he would need for work. Artfire Glassworks would provide many useful goods in his line of employment. Jars to store ingredients and specimen, bottles for medicines, dishes, glasses, anything really.

Better yet, it was own and run by Inartans, who were famous for this line of work. It was guaranteed to be quality glassware if Inartans were making it. First, Grant wanted to look around. The courtyard was impressive, but the interior was even more so. A showroom filled with products; jars, vials, bowls, the list went on. So many colors and shapes that it dazzled the eye. And so many apprentices. Business was definitely booming. "Can I help you find anything?" One of them asked when they caught him browsing a few wildly colored drinking glasses. "No, no, thank you. I'd like to look a while." He was left to wander the showroom after that.

It was all a little too overwhelming. There were so many sizes and shapes of everything, all beyond his expectations in quality. Flasks and vials too, with corked tops, screw on caps, and lightning closure, the latter of which he preferred for a tight, easy to open seal. He leaned in close to a matching set of jars that he'd examined several times already. How long had he been inside? Half a bell? A full bell? Maybe even longer. Time always got away from him when he was shopping. These in particular looked more than sturdy. A common style of apothecary jar, with glass lids and clear walls. Good for display, and made finding what one was looking for particularly easy. There were a few bell jars as well to his left that would make for good plant covers.

So many possibilities, so little time and gold.

by **Tyral Moondrinker** on June 12th, 2013, 9:34 pm

"No, Pearl, you can't come! I'll be back before you know it! Just find us some dinner."

The little otter chittered angrily back at the tall Svefra before diving off the dock into the dark blue water, splashing him as she swam away. Wiping his eyes free of the salt water, Tyral chuckled to himself. She would get over it. She always did. She wasn't one to hold a grudge, especially against him, even though he had done plenty that deserved it. It still pained him to be separated from her, even for such a short period of time. But his sail needed mending and he was running low on supplies, namely ale.

He turned to the sprawling coastal town behind him and squared his shoulders. The smell of fish, saltwater and people found its way to him and he frowned. Being on land was bad enough, but add in crowds? The Svefra ran leathery hands through his light brown hair and tied it into a ponytail with a bright red piece of rope he extracted from his belt. Adjusting the white cotton shirt he wore around his shoulders, he plunged into the teeming crowd around the port. At least the sun was high and the sky clear with the promise of a cool night ahead.

Threading his way through stalls and bystanders, Tyral made it past the initial chaos and confusion surrounding the coast and found the inner city a bit easier to navigate. With some space to relax, he slowed his pace and began to take in his environment. Small, cramped houses and shops fronted with garish signs advertising a variety of wares made up the majority of the buildings. Here and there were inns and brothels, with a fair number of bars scattered throughout. He made a mental note of a particularly attractive looking establishment called 'The Leaky Hull' for later on.

Lost in thoughts of the night before with an attractive Svefran girl he had met in a haze of revelry, he forgot to watch where he was going. Suddenly he found himself tumbling headlong onto the street. He lay for a moment after the tumble, getting his bearings, ignoring the laughter and stares from the people around him. The hell was that? As if in answer to his thoughts a large canine face loomed over him, blocking everything else from view. A large glob of drool hit him square in the forehead and he cursed, rolling to his feet as he wiped it off with his sleeve. In front of him a dog sat on her haunches, wagging her tail and panting. Tyral looked around to see if anyone was coming to get their dog. No one. After a moment of standing there looking upset and trying to be angry, Tyral relented and scratched the dog's head. Might as well let her tag along until someone found her. If not, it would be funny to see how a dog held up on a ship at sea.

Without looking back, Tyral strode onwards down the street towards his destination, hearing the telltale panting of the dog at his heels. He grinned to himself and began to whistle a tune, enjoying the warm breeze that blew through the buildings. It tasted like the sea.

by **Grant Reynolds** on June 13th, 2013, 3:07 am

There were just too many choices for him to pick from. He'd think on it a few days and come back, but for now Grant would leave empty handed. He rubbed his prickly chin as he exited back into the courtyard and headed for the street. A shave was probably in his immediate future. He stopped just at the threshold of the bustling road, watching Akalaks and various others hustle about their day. Absently, he adjusted his crooked sleeve, speaking to the spot where he'd left Lucille. "Ready to head on back?" Frowning after a long moment, when he didn't get any sort of reaction, he looked down at the cobbled where he'd left her. Gone.

Grant looked up sharply, scanning the immediate area. "Lucy?" He brushed by a pair of giggling women, mumbling an apology under his breath as he raked the street with his eyes. Where is she? She'd never wandered before. This was uncharacteristic of her. Where could she have gone off to? Riverfall was huge. It was just by chance that he caught a glimpse of her tail as it disappeared behind a cluster of Akalaks in a fervent debate. "Lucille!" Who was the man she was following? Outrage twisted his face into a scowl. A thief! Grant quickly jogged after the two of them, dodging people as they milled about their business. "Hey! You!" The man didn't seem to hear him, and instead kept walking.

Lucy though stopped at the sound of his voice, turning, panting happily. She barked loudly, dashing between a pair of legs to come greet him. "You had me worried for a moment," he chastened her, relieved that she wasn't long gone. If he'd stayed in that shop any longer, he wouldn't have spotted them. Them. He looked up at the still retreating back of the thief, eyes narrowing. Rather clumsily, he balanced on one leg and yanked his low boot off the other. "Hey!" he called again, just before he lobbed the shoe over the crowd. Several people ducked out of the way, protesting loudly. Others watched in surprised interest as the boot hit the thief squarely between the shoulder blades. Grant smiled, more than triumphant and proud of himself.

"Bullseye." Lucille wagged her tail and nuzzled his hand, oblivious to what was actually going on and just wanting some attention. Without looking down, he massaged one of her fluffy ears between his fingers, the way she loved so much.

by **Tyral Moondrinker** on June 13th, 2013, 3:53 am

Lost in his whistling tune, Tyral failed to hear the man yelling after him. He adjusted the shell and hemp necklace about his neck and frowned down at a small cut on his right hand. Now where did that come from? Wiping the blood away he looked up and began whistling just as the airborne boot struck him square between the shoulder blades. It didn't hurt much, it was just a boot after all. He stopped and turned, noticing that the dog had stopped following him, sitting quite happily at another man's feet. The man was only wearing one boot and looked quite angry. He had to be the culprit.

Tyral bent over and picked up the leather boot from the dusty road. He dusted it off as he strolled casually up to the man and smiled as he held it out to him.

“Did you by any chance drop your boot, good sir?”Tyral asked, smiling politely. Without waiting for an answer, he balled up his right fist and swung it into the man's jaw. As the man stumbled back, he followed him, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him close. Tyral stood a good three inches taller which resulted in him looking down into the older man's face. The smile had been replaced by a snarl, his jaw set and determined.

“Now tell me, old man. What were you thinking in that ugly, lumpy conch shell that you call a head when you decided to do that?” he growled, conscious of the small ring of people beginning to form around them. People were always quick to cheer on a tussle, and the law was even quicker to throw a young Svefran in jail so he needed to finish this quick. The weight of his cutlass bumped against his side, but that would be a bad idea. “Answer me quick, or I'll take you out onto the waves and let Laviku deal with you.”

by **Grant Reynolds** on June 13th, 2013, 3:52 pm

How had he expected it to turn out? A chastened apology before they parted ways, with Grant feeling triumphant? At first that seemed how it was going to go, but then it backfired on his part. Why he threw that damn boot, he'll never know. It was a rare occasion where his emotions had run away, leaving his brain in the metaphorical dust. He'd have plenty of time to think it over while he nursed the bruised jaw this young man gave him. It was a good hit, and a very unexpected one. He would have landed flat on his back if the boy hadn't caught him. When his head stopped reeling, Grant found he was staring into the angry blue eyes of the dog napper. How did this young man have the right to be angry?

"Old?" he repeated rather incredulously. I'm only 38. And my head isn't lumpy..., he thought indignantly, and then a little absently, He's going to wrinkle my shirt. "You have no right to be angry, boy," Grant rumbled, radiating displeasure and placing emphasis on the last word. Two could play this game. He wasn't a fighter, but he wasn't a helpless child, either. "The Jivatalus? She's with me. You were stealing her, and I caught you in your undesirable little act. Don't act so high and mighty for the crowd, it's very unbecoming. And take your hands off me, while you're at it." All he could see were the blue eyes and weathered face, their faces were so close that their noses almost touched. They were lighter than Grant's, more tropical, while his looked like storm waters.

Lucille whined uncertainly, sensing the tension between the two. She'd had a good first impression of Tyral, making her uncertain of what to do. Ghosts were her forte, not flesh and blood men. Grant had never trained her to guard against the living, wanting to keep her out of harm's way. She was a very precious gift from his father. A farewell present for his trip to Cyphrus.

by **Tyral Moondrinker** on June 13th, 2013, 6:15 pm

"Old? You have no right to be angry, boy.”

At this, Tyral stiffened, sensing the hostility of the man. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a boy running down the street, most likely to fetch the guards. This needed to end. He balled his fist up, muscles tensing, as Grant spoke.

“The Jivatalus? She's with me. You were stealing her, and I caught you in your undesirable little act. Don't act so high and mighty for the crowd, it's very unbecoming. And take your hands off me, while you're at it."

This took the Svefra by surprise and he loosened his grip, eyebrow raised. Stealing? Of he course he thought he was stealing the dog. That was the first conclusion they always jumped to, these land dwellers. The proud, honorable Svefra relegated to petty thieves in the eyes of the world because of misconceptions. He was tired of it. Tired of the suspicious stares and mumbled insults while his back was turned. But this time it wasn't insults. It was a boot. A boot. Taking a step back, Tyral squared off to the man, holding his hands ready at his sides.

“You see that I am of the water and you jump to these conclusions,” he yelled, spitting on the ground between them. “Bah! There are no thieves here among us, only those who fail to hold on to what is theirs.” He turned to the crowd raising his hands dramatically above his head, spread wide in a sweeping gesture. “But, good folk of Riverfall, there are liars.” Turning, he pointed at Grant , looking somewhat pathetic with the dog at his side and only one boot on. “And one liar in particular. A man who would rather disrobe in anger than strike like an honorable man.” At this, there were several chuckles throughout the bystanders, several of them being Svefra. They could be seen easily, their bare chests and near-flamboyant accessories of beads and assorted metal setting them apart as vividly as if their skin were bright pink. He lowered his hands and his face became a mask of pleading. “Do you not see that we have honor? That we are a just and proud people? The walls that separate us are of your own choosing, not ours. But no more.” At this, his eyes narrowed and fury entered them. His ocean blue eyes met those of Grant and he strode towards him purposefully, his fists clenched tightly. “We will not tolerate this prejudice anymore.” His voice, a half growl, half yell, brought four Svefran males out of the crowd, and they surrounded the man and his dog, eyes filled with malicious intent.

by **Grant Reynolds** on June 17th, 2013, 8:41 pm

Yes, things were definitely getting out of hand. Grant couldn't help but flinch slightly, but the thief didn't spit on him. It narrowly missed his boot. Who spits at people, honestly? That's a tad uncivilized. But so was throwing a boot, so he didn't really have any room to talk. What have I got myself into? Quite a few spectators had gathered, and he knew this wasn't going to get better anytime soon if he didn't try to end it. This man, he was going on and on about values and honor, but why? The look of confusion as genuine on Grant's face, as he watched this emotional, fervent display. He wasn't even embarassed when a few men laughed, obviously at him.

Why should Grant be red in the face? He hadn't done anything wrong. This man was the thief, and he was only guilty of getting peeved and throwing a shoe. What did it all have to do with honor? Apparently it had a lot to do with it, because several rather tough looking men disengaged from the crowd and surrounded him. Grant wasn't sure he could even fight one man, let alone a handful. He looked at the main instigator, who'd preached and yelled and thrown a shit fit.

For a man like Grant, fists weren't his weapon. Words were. Hopefully he could talk all of them down off their high horses, and show them how idiotic this had become. Even if he had thrown the boot, this was going too far. Fighting in the streets would get them all in more trouble than they could hope to get out of, so best to end it before it progressed any deeper. "I don't understand a damn word that is coming out of your mouth. I came out of the shop, and my dog was gone. She was with you. What was I supposed to think?" He didn't want Lucille stuck in the middle of this either. The dog was trained to guard against ghosts, not flesh and blood men.

His palms were sweating profusely, and he tried to discreetly wipe them on his thighs. He looked over at one of the men on his left, another large one. Damn they're big. "My mother is Svefra, for Gods' sake. I didn't even know he was," Grant jerked his thumb at the man issue standing next to him for emphasis, "until I got a good look at him head on. And because of that little tirade." He looked back at Tyral, frowning. "Accusing you of being a thief because you took something that wasn't yours is not prejudice. Do you even know the definition of the word? You speak of all this honor, but look at the situation. Five against one. Does that look honorable to you?"

Good words for someone who's heart was racing out of control. Sweat trickled down his back, making the collar of his shirt itch. "If the guards show up and you're beating me into next season, we'll all be strung up by our toes."

by **Tyral Moondrinker** on June 19th, 2013, 7:26 pm

Tyral stopped in front of Grant, close enough to strike him. The other men had pressed in to similar distances, ready to pick him up and carry him to the sea when they would teach him to be so quick to accuse people of being thieves. The Svefra was ready to dodge a punch, but instead the man spoke.

"I don't understand a damn word that is coming out of your mouth. I came out of the shop, and my dog was gone. She was with you. What was I supposed to think? My mother is Svefra, for Gods' sake. I didn't even know he was until I got a good look at him head on. And because of that little tirade. Accusing you of being a thief because you took something that wasn't yours is not prejudice. Do you even know the definition of the word? You speak of all this honor, but look at the situation. Five against one. Does that look honorable to you?"

Tyral hesitated for a moment. His right hand opened flat in a gesture that told the other Svefra to wait. They didn't have long before the guards came. The boy who had run to fetch them had been quick. “Your dog ran in front of me and caused me to trip. You were nowhere nearby and it followed me when I left. It's your own damned fault for not tying the thing up,” Tyral growled. “You obviously weren't thinking, you fool.” This isn't good. Maybe this was wrong... His mother? Tyral took another good look at the man and took note of his blue eyes, dark like water. It was undeniable. There was Svefra in this man. If this was true, there really was no honor in this, Svefra fighting Svefra.

He stepped a little closer, speaking softly so the crowd could not overhear, “Your mother was Svefra? What pod was she in? Tell me quickly or I will finish this now.” His eyes met the man's, his expression one of extreme seriousness. “If you are lying, you will not last the night. To claim to be part of the family is a serious business.” He caught the others' eyes as they could hear him. They had all stopped at the man's speech and seemed uncertain. Tyral was, as well, but he hid it far better. One of the perks of being a gifted speaker and actor was the ability to cover up one's own blunders. And this may be one of those times. Grant had seemed awfully confident, and perhaps this really was just a misunderstanding. After all, thinking back, Tyral could see what it had looked to him. Laviku damn my stupidity! What have I gotten myself into here?

by **Grant Reynolds** on June 27th, 2013, 4:05 pm

Grant ran his hands down his face, a clear indication of exasperation. He'd only met his mother a few times his whole entire life, and now the fate of whether he was going to be beaten sensless right here rested on her absent shoulders. It was a good darn thing he even knew her name, because his father never spoke of her, except when she was actually around. The last time they'd seen each other was over fifteen years back, now. "I'm not lying about anything. That would be a ridiculous thing to make up. My mother's name is Briannah Purewaters, alright?" Grant just wanted to go back to his room now and lock himself up with a good book.

"Now, please, take a step back? You smell like seaweed, and I never liked that odor. I don't plan on tying Lucille up anywhere, because she is not a thing. This is one of the very few times she's ever wandered off, and I am sorry, but get over it. You look perfectly fine to me, no broken bones, no pulled muscles. I should know, I'm qualified to make those observations. You're well enough to muster up a gang to try and come after me, in the middle of the street, so I think this is a no harm no foul situation." He looked over at one of the others. "Don't you think so?" He sure could sound like a stern old man sometimes, like right now. In a way, he felt like he was lecturing a bunch of teenagers.

by **Banickle** on August 4th, 2013, 7:13 pm

And the Mozcars for Best PCs in Leading Roles go to... :

"May I swing you a lullaby? Shall I slay you a tune? It will be fun, I promise, to fear my croon!"

Closed Dude, Where's My Dog? (Tyral)